Penalty
by newvagabond
Summary: Smokescreen/Ultra Magnus. Nonsticky. Tactile. Mouthing. Plug-n-play. Um... dom/sub. Heh.


**A/N: Smokescreen/Ultra Magnus. Nonsticky. Tactile. Mouthing. Plug-n-play.** Um... **dom/sub. **

So yeah, that might need a tiny bit of an explanation. Though I love the dom/sub dynamic I've never been able to seriously ship anyone that way... Until chikachikaslimscreen and I discussed this ship and realized that it made a weird amount of sense?

This is based on RP stuff which is why rather than my usual focus on where the relationship came from, I'm sort of writing from the middle of it. If you ever want to read our RP stuff, I post it on my tumblr/RP blogs in a long and readable format.

Also, hey! This is my **50th TFP fic!** Yay! Party!

* * *

Every time Smokescreen tried to move away he found his hips being dragged down the berth in a quick screech of metal. There was no escape. No getting out of this. He knew by now but he still tried. Ventilations came hard, frame already filling with static, fans already at top speed. Large digits were buried deep between plates, training the connectors, every caress precise and measured. No sensor went untouched, no cable without compression, no circuit without a firm stroke.

Ultra Magnus knew exactly what he was doing. As he always did.

Smokescreen's legs twitched around the lieutenant's head and he couldn't help squirming when a sensor node came under a hard digit. The tingling spread from the sensor up his chassis, fizzling out at his shoulders and it took biting his glossa to keep a groan down.

One week already. One week of this build up, of having those fingers rooted within him, making cables throb and plating burn.

And he never let him overload. By the third day the young mech wasn't looking forward to it anymore, no matter how fragging _good _it was. Without overload it had become torture. He tried to avoid the veteran, tried to assure him he'd learned his lesson, that he didn't need a session that day. But of course Ultra Magnus never deviated from his punishments.

And it was all because he'd been caught self-servicing. He knew it went against their agreement, he knew it was a violation but frag, something that day had really gotten his fans running and he had to take care of it. He couldn't even remember what it was—he just knew he'd run into the storage room and went for cables the nano-klik he thought he was alone. The look on Magnus' face when he saw him... Remembering it made him shudder. Or maybe that was because the other mech had just licked pelvic plating.

Oh, no. Not that. Anything but that.

Smokescreen shot up into a sitting position, or as much of one as he could get into with his legs draped over the larger mech.

"Wait—" he pleaded, servos planting firmly on Ultra Magnus' collar in a fruitless attempt to get his helm away from his pelvis. He pushed but the other didn't budge. "No, don't—please."

The fingers locked into plating tightened and optics only narrowed. _Direct protocol violation_. Silver faceplate twitched before he opened his mouth and Smokescreen choked in a cry as a highly charged glossa dipped between a gap. The shock went directly to an already sore circuit, sending an agonizing and fast crawl down to his pedes.

Ultra Magnus kept his gaze fixed on the subject's reaction, carefully reading the way cabling contracted under his fingers. In order to keep this game up, he had to know just how far to push it to keep the other on the edge. To hold him right there with no way to release the charge inside. He ventilated deeply before pulling the soldier's frame down again, forcing him back into supine position and mercilessly attacking a sensor node with denta and glossa.

Smokescreen was still feebly trying to push him away, legs trembling, optics burning from the stimulation.

_Frag. _He needed to overload. He needed to overload _so bad_. Seven sols of this torture had left him raw and on the verge of insanity. Even Ratchet had noticed that the young soldier seemed to have a marginally unhealthy buildup of static on his frame. He shocked everything and at times became irritable. Any suspicious squinting at Ultra Magnus went ignored.

If he didn't overload soon his processor was going to fall apart. And as Ultra Magnus yet again unleashed upon a poor sensitive circuit, Smokescreen felt his optics sting with a veil of moisture.

"Please—" he cried. "Please, please, _please _just frag me—j-just—I can't—"

Ultra Magnus lifted his blue helm slowly and only enough to properly look at the soldier. Frame heated. Optics glowing and... leaking cleanser. Hm. He pressed his mouth to a plate before speaking, just to get the mech's pelvis to jump.

"Please _what?"_

"Sir! Please, _sir!"_

One last lick and Ultra Magnus pulled away, letting Smokescreen's legs fall around his waist appropriately. He loomed, casting a shadow over the soldier, who wiped at his optics quickly and looked up with an uncertain gaze.

"What is our agreement, soldier?" the lieutenant vocalized.

Smokescreen almost stammered. "I—o-only overload by y-your servo, sir."

Without missing a beat, "Will I ever catch you self-servicing again as long as our agreement is active?"

"No, sir."

Optics narrowed in consideration. He watched the tendrils of electricity jumping about the soldier's frame, desperate and charged to maximum. He took a reading of the way his energy field wavered, pitifully begging for interface.

Decision made.

"Open."

Smokescreen jumped at the command and stared for a moment before realizing what he meant. Plating shifted to allow a white cable to draw out from within, electric blue bio-lights pulsing. Magnus could feel the throb as he swiped it and clicked it into place at a port beneath his chest. He barely flinched at the flood of a week's worth of pleasure built up from the other.

The young mech shifted, revealing his aching port just above ventral armor. Optics widened as he watched his partner plug in and the moment the link was made he threw his helm back with a keening whine, field practically an inferno of desire.

Everything lit up. Every plate, sensor, cable, circuit, every fiber of his being was instantly shoved into a scorching pit of pleasurable feedback and spark-deep bliss.

Ultra Magnus remained still for only a moment before grabbing hold of Smokescreen's waist and pushing energy through their connection while simultaneously grinding their pelvises together.

"_Aah_—" Smokescreen's vocals distorted. There was no attempt to form words. Optics were large, mouth hanging open as if utterly stunned at what he was feeling.

And with all that build-up, Magnus knew this was not going to last more than a good klik of firm fucking. So he made it good and _hard_ until Smokescreen's optics glazed over and in an instant his frame crackled the force of lightning. But he didn't stop until he got what he wanted. He kept pounding him into the berth through the mech's overload, white and blue legs gripping him until finally—a scream. A scream only he created, only he could claim.

Magnus held onto him, optics locked, observing the convulsion of frame and the way the soldier's legs instinctively hugged the larger mech's waist every time he was slammed with another wave of deep static.

Smokescreen was long gone, staring up at nothing as small content noises escaped his vocalizer. Static continued coursing over his body noisily, making him twitch every few seconds.

Ultra Magnus was honestly surprised the boy hadn't momentarily gone offline from the force of that overload. A week's worth of static could easily pop a fuse or two and—Well, well. He smelled something burning. Ratchet would need to take a look at that. But for now...

"Sit up," he commanded as he disconnected their links. Smokescreen responded with a groan and Magnus ignored it for the moment to get up and reach for a vial of coolant. He forced the greenhorn up and without hesitation brought the liquid to his mouthplate. Luckily Smokescreen was able to react in time to drink it rather than choke on it. He held onto the bigger mech's servo to slow the intake. When the vial was empty he panted and wiped his mouthplate.

That's when he noticed a thick pop of static shoot up the lieutenant's helm. Hey, he didn't overload? Only then did it occur to him that during each of their sessions, Magnus had not had release.

"Wait, what about you?" Smokescreen asked before he thought about it. "Uh, sir."

Ultra Magnus squinted an optic and stood to set the vial aside. Despite his aching frame, Smokescreen shifted and sat up straight like he had an idea. Before he could ask if his lieutenant would allow him the pleasure of bringing _him _to overload, he was struck in the faceplate with a mesh pillow.

"Stasis," Magnus said in a tone Smokescreen knew all too well.

Optics rolled. Weird guy. Maybe next time.


End file.
